


Sun Rising in the West

by Celestial_Alignment



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jim, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Jealously, Jim beating people up, Jim doesn't know he's gay yet, Jim hooking up with a random lady, M/M, No Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Slash, Rimming, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Top Jim, artemus has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Alignment/pseuds/Celestial_Alignment
Summary: Jim West gets a little too drunk and kisses Arte, opening up a whole new world of feelings.
Relationships: Artemus Gordon/James West
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go again, jumping on a rare pair ship. Although, the Jim/Arte ship is more antiquated than rare, I suppose. Either way, I've fallen into watching Wild Wild West and I can't stop. Yee to the Haw.

It wasn’t often that Artemus Gordon had the pleasure of seeing his eternally cool and collected partner James West drunk, even if he had seen him drugged or knocked silly more times than he could count. But it was New Years, they had just spent the better part of three months sussing out a foreign terrorist organization that was intent on blowing up half of the country. The usual. Although, this one required Artemus to be deep undercover in all those months, tricking his way within the innermost circle to discover not only the plot but the location of the explosives, and Jim used his cunning to get to those locations unseen to disarm the bombs at the last moment.

There were gunfights, fist fights, some attempted poisonings, and at one point Jim found himself tied up to the cowcatcher of a train headlong for a cliff, but they came out of it victorious and with the terrorists all apprehended or dead. Just in time for the new year.

The bartender counted down to midnight and everyone in the saloon cried a _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_ Accompanied with some hoots, hollers, and celebratory gun shots, drinks all around, and it was in the wee hours of the morning that Artemus had his arms full of Jim West. Mind you, Artemus was closer to drunk than sober himself, but he had slowed down on his guzzling when he saw his partner getting positively sloshed.

They were singing “Auld Lang Syne” as they wended together over the dirt towards their private train, Jim’s arm over Artemus’s shoulders, the former’s usually muscular legs working like they were made of jelly. This hour of the night in the desert was absolutely icy in January, their breath puffing like smoke around them, and the cold unable to penetrate the alcohol in their blood stream.

“C’mon, James…” Artemus slurred his words as he nudged his partner to the steps leading up to the back of the train. “Alley-Oop!”

Jim tipped forward and grabbed hold of the rails, pulling himself up while he got a push from behind. Artemus hoisted himself up behind him and into the car, the lamps all lit, the gold tasseled green curtains waiting for them. The warmth of the parlor car made Artemus suddenly aware of how cold his nose was. Jim was going for the whiskey bottle.

“Oh, no, no, no…” Artemus contained a belch as he hobbled to him and snatched the bottle from his hand.

“C’mon, Arte… It’s a cle-celer… celebration…”

Artemus shook his head, making himself dizzy in the process. “We’ve celebrated enough to last the rest of the century, Jim… ‘m cuttin’ you off…”

Jim’s mouth formed a pout and he dropped heavily onto the couch. Artemus set the whiskey bottle out of reach and began to pull off his jacket as he took hobbling steps towards the door that led to the next car.

“I need a bath… I smell like a skunk that’s been—AH!” his jacket was around his elbows when he was pulled hard onto the couch, tipping over into the dip that Jim made in the cushions. “What’s the idea?”

Jim’s arm was heavy on his shoulders, and his own were effectively pinned.

“Jus’ a minute, Arte…” Jim said quietly in that rumbly way that he did when he was most pensive. “We’ve been partners for… God, ‘ow long?”

Artemus was desperately trying to wriggle out of his jacket, anchored by Jim’s arm. “Too long, if ya ask me… D’you mind?”

Jim then graciously pulled at Artemus’s jacket, to peel it off his arms and free him. He tossed it behind him, letting it drape on the back of the sofa.

Artemus was tired and drunk and just wanted to get to bed, his hands pulling loose his tie and unbuttoning the top of his collar. “I reckon you got a lot to sleep off, Jim… Never seen you so devil may care with the drink…”

“Jus’ celebrating a great partnership, Arte… Nothin’ wrong with that, is there?”

“I’ll remind you that you said that tomorrow when you're hungover an’ beggin’ me to put you outta yer misery…”

Arte moved to stand again, and there was an arm on his shoulders again, weighing him down, Jim’s body sinking into him, his face in Artemus’s neck, breath hot on his throat. Jim smelled like he had been bathing in whiskey, but that old familiar musk came through, a little of the aftershave that Artemus was so familiar with. He swallowed hard.

“I think, ah… I think you oughta lie down, Jim…”

“I am lyin’ down, aren’t I…?”

“Not as such, James…” he slowly moved to slide away from him, but now Jim’s hand was on his thigh. The ringing in Artemus’s head was a klaxon bell now, and he was sure there was fire coming out of the palm of Jim’s hand where it lay. Sure, they had been in close proximity with one another countless times, but never like this. Never when he felt Jim’s lips on his neck.

Mr. West was so sauced out of his mind, he couldn’t have been conscious of what he was doing, there was definitely no untowardly intent behind it. Artemus lacked the anatomy of a perky female to earn that kind of attention, he knew. But that didn’t change the fact that he was flushed from head to foot, an old familiar hunger gnawing away at him that he had managed to keep buried when it came to his partner.

They were both government agents, a team, brothers in arms. Artemus _definitely_ did not think about how well-built his partner was, or the way his pants fit him in a dangerously tight way, or the way his hair would get disheveled after a fight, or the deep cadence of his voice when he did that low purr to hypnotize women or play coy.

“Hmmm…” Jim purred.

God damn it to hell, he was doing it now!

“J-Jim,” Artemus was feeling shockingly sober all of a sudden. “I think you, uh, got me confused with one o’ your lady friends…”

“You, Artemus… Are th’ farthest thing from a lady…” Jim murmured into his neck.

Something was rising in Artemus’s trousers and he gulped again. “Don’t I know it. Jim I gotta…”

“Gotta what…?” Jim said lazily, his hand moving mindlessly upward on Artemus’s thigh.

 _I gotta go!_ The words were stuck in his throat as he found himself slowly falling onto his back Jim on top of him like a cat, chest to chest, face to face now. There was such a languid, yet burning look in Jim’s eyes that Artemus had never been on the receiving end of.

“I ever tell you, Arte, how good you look in gold vests?”

“N-no…” He wondered if Jim could feel the unwanted erection under him—there was certainly very little else between them. “What, uh… What’cha doin’, Jim?”

“Hmm?” Jim purred, tilted his head with what was probably supposed to be taken as innocence.

“You’re on top of me and your crushin’ me a just little bit…” Artemus let out a quiet, breathy laugh, trying to make light of this very confusing and alarming situation.

“Just a little?” Jim’s voice reached a slightly higher pitch and his lean body shifted, his hip grinding against the bulge that Artemus was sporting, causing the latter to grunt hard and stare at the ceiling in terror.

“Okay, then… a lot…” he gasped.

“I never noticed before, Arte… jus’ how kissable ya look.”

“If you’re makin’ fun of me, consider me made fun of…”

“I’m not makin’ fun, Arte, honest…” Jim was frowning now, looking as serious as he was likely to with the drunken flush of his cheeks. He slowly leaned in, lips hovering close, those big blue eyes of his fluttering shut. Lips touched, and Artemus was stunned at just how soft they were, so soft he was sure they would melt on his tongue if he dared. Air slowly left Artemus’s lungs and he was forfeiting at the contact.

“Hmmmmm…” Jim was purring again and the way that it tingled down Arte’s spine jolted him alert again. 

Oh, no.

This was bad!

In pure desperation he pushed— _hard_. Jim flopped backward, arms flailing just before he hit the floorboards with a loud thud on his back. Arte spoke as he scurried through the door to the next cabin.

“Have a good night, Jim, see you in the morning sleep well and all that don’t forget to take off your gun and sleep well, oh I said that, well g’night, James, and happy new year!” He closed the door and locked it.

* * *

When Jim woke the next morning, the left side of his body was numb. Blinking open his puffy eyes, he was staring at the leg of the couch. With a groan, he rolled over onto his back and was staring at the ceiling of the parlor car.

He was on the floor. He slept on the floor?

He was still fully dressed, still in his blue jacket, boots on, gun on his hip and bruising his thigh from sleeping on it. That was going to smart. His hair was flat on the left side, his cheeks a little rough with the whiskers that grew over night.

“Good morning, James…”

He tilted up his chin to look upward, and there he saw Artemus calmly sitting at the table, a newspaper in one hand, a mug in the other.

“Arte…” he spoke slowly, his throat sore his voice hoarse. “Was I drugged again…?”

“Drugged? No… But you damn near poisoned yourself with all that whiskey you were throwin’ back last night.” 

Oh, right… they were celebrating last night. “You sure I didn’t step out in front of a train…?”

“Not that I’m aware of…” Artemus was smiling. “You gonna get up off the floor or should I get a funnel to feed you?”

Jim’s stomach turned a little. “Dunno if I could eat…”

“I got some hair of the dog here for you… then there’s coffee if you’re up for it.”

Jim lay there still, the ceiling spinning very slowly over him, his head throbbing so bad he was sure someone was driving a railroad spike right into it.

“Arte…”

“Yeah, Jim?”

“I can’t get up.”

Artemus calmly folded his paper, set down his drink and approached, looking down at him with his thumbs hooked in the sleeves of his vest.

“You gonna help?” Jim held up a hand.

Artemus was smiling. “I’m so used to seein’ you doing kung fu at this time in the morning, I can’t help but enjoy the change of routine.”

“Arte…” he whined, the volume of his partner’s voice falling on him like bricks.

Artemus chuckled and took his hand. With a grunt he hoisted him up onto his feet, a hand on Jim’s chest to steady him. Jim pressed the back of his hand to his pounding head, pinching his eyes closed.

“Can you do me a favor, Artemus…?”

“Sure, Jim…”

“Can you put me outta my misery…?”

Arte laughed and patted Jim on the chest. “I knew you’d ask. Come on… Sit down…”

Jim was led to a chair where he sat slowly, wincing a little as he began to remove the gunbelt. “I think I got a gun-shaped bruise on my leg now…”

“I told you to take it off…” Artemus scolded, sitting across from him and sliding a glass in his direction.

“You did…?” Jim hung the gun belt on the back of his chair and gladly took the glass, swallowing the finger of whiskey in one go before dragging the back of his hand across his lips. He rubbed at his tender thigh.

“Do you, uh… Remember anything from last night?” Artemus was sure blinking a lot as he stared at him over the edge of his newspaper.

“Oh no, what’d I do?”

“Tell me first what you remember…”

Jim scratched at his cheek, hating the feeling of day old whiskers. “I remember being at Rawley’s Saloon… We were singin’ ‘Auld Lang Syne’… You were talking for a long time about the history of the song, but I might have stopped listening. I remember a lovely senorita at the piano… I think I kissed her… I remember how soft her lips were…”

“You always had a thing for lips…” Artemus said quietly. “That all you remember?”

He thought long and hard then shrugged helplessly. “I seem to remember getting here, but that’s about it. Guess I plumb passed out right there on the floor.”

“Yeah… You plumb passed out.”

“Thanks a lot for leaving me on the hard floor, Arte, you’re a real friend…” Jim wanted to offer up his best sardonic smile, but his whole face and head hurt.

“You put yourself there, I wasn’t so sober myself, you know… Why are you blaming me, anyway? You’re a grown man, James, you can take care of yourself.” Artemus angrily turned the page.

Jim stared at him. “Look, I’m sorry I had a little too much to drink last night. If I did anything to offend you, Arte, I’m sorry.”

“Who, you? Jim West offensive? Never in all his life.”

“You’re bein’ a bit catty, Arte… You’d tell me if I did something, wouldn’t you?”

Artemus sighed heavily and closed his newspaper. “Of course I would, Jim…”

“Okay then…” he said with some finality, though he had a niggling feeling that it was far from settled.

As much as Jim wanted to continue the conversation, he smelled like an old boot and had a headache comparable to any concussion he’d ever gotten. He took his cup of coffee, patted his friend’s shoulder, and slipped out to the other car to clean up and change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Jim has brought home a female conquest and Artemus just has to deal with it. A little angst, a little humor.

It was March now, they had a few assignments in the months after the new year, and they had just concluded a brief, but messy affair concerning an assassination plot on the town mayor that was to be blamed on the state senator, and also implicated the French government, though they were innocent. The guilty party was a radical sect from across the border. Artemus had disguised himself as the mayor, while Jim hunted down the assassin, and together they were able to find the hideout of the conspirators in the canyon just outside of the town. Jim was captured by the conspirators, but he managed to get free thanks to his pocket watch bomb and stop the assassination just before a boomerang sickle could lop off the head of the fake mayor (a.k.a. Arte).

One of the key components to the case was a beautiful young lady by the name of Abigail Orson, who didn’t know her uncle was a conspirator until all of this came to light, and unsurprisingly, she wound up here on the couch of their parlor car, hand in hand with Jim West, lips locked and giggles exchanged.

Artemus was always resigned to Jim’s _homme fatale_ status, how he was irresistible to every woman and they were irresistible to him. It was easier to stomach four months ago, before Artemus knew what the lips of James West tasted like. Jim never did remember kissing Arte, and that just made the sound of their giggles even more nauseating.

Artemus was sitting at the small desk, tapping out a message to Washington to let them know the success of their assignment. Jim and Abigail were kissing again, and when Artemus ventured to look up from his tapping, he saw Jim’s hand swimming up along her corset, moving upward towards higher peaks, and Arte couldn’t take it anymore.

He loudly cleared his throat and rose suddenly, yawning as loud as his lungs could manage. 

“Well, I am bushed! All done sending that message to Washington… Miss Orson, thank you so much for answering any an’ all of our questions. Apologies for keeping you here so late, we’ll be happy to see you home safely.”

The young woman looked over her laced shoulder, long lashes batting. “Home? At this hour? I’d hate to be a burden on you boys, but I would feel much safer traveling in the day time…”

Jim didn’t take his hand off her waist, his eyes looking appealingly to Artemus. “You don’t mean to send a lady out at night, do ya Arte?”

“I’d be happy to let her have my bed so that she could sleep _alone_ and _unbothered_ , if that’s a better alternative…” Artemus smiled painfully, almost gagging on his own forced laugh.

“Alone?” she touched at her chest, shocked. “I’d be afraid to sleep alone in a strange place…”

Jim’s lips were on her cheek. “I think I got a solution for that.”

“I dunno why I try to be respectable around here…” Artemus said under his breath as he was completely forgotten. He gave up. With a curt good night, he went out the door to the next car, to get to his private room.

There was one wall separating their rooms in the next car, and Artemus had spent many a day and night racking his brain on clever ways to make it soundproof. He had ideas, but never the time to implement them. Never mind the nights that he found comfort in hearing Jim snoring on the other side, when they didn’t have any guests. Tonight he didn’t want to hear what he heard now.

Two sets of feet walking in there, feminine giggles, shoes thunking on the floor boards when removed, the distinct rustle of a petticoat and all its layers removed and laces being undone. It was irritating, but almost painful when he could recognize the sounds of Jim’s gun belt being removed, the squeak of the bed springs with the weight of bodies. More giggles, Jim’s included, and that damn low hum of his that vibrated right through the walls.

Arte had stripped down for the night and was lying awake in bed, wide eyed in the dark with only the sounds on the other side of the wall to keep him company.

“Oh! Mr. West!”

The lady was moaning and panting. Artemus pulled the pillow around his ears. It helped a little. The lady let out a long cry and there was more gasping giggles. Now the bed springs were squeaking quite repetitively and it conjured images impossible to ignore. A lot of naked flesh, sweaty, flushed with exertion, the sheen that cut out the definition of Jim’s shoulders, chest, arms, his narrow waist, and the perfect even layer of hair across his chest and abdominal muscles.

For the life of him, Artemus couldn’t remember what a naked woman looked like.

God damn it to hell.

Every time. Every time in the last few months that Jim had brought home a lady, Artemus thought it would get easier to dismiss. He had done it on countless occasions over the years, why was it killing him now? This was intolerable. He threw off his blanket, pulled on his robe, and stomped into the lab car to try on the soundproof ear muffs he had been perfecting. Or he could bore out his brain with an ice pick, whichever was most effective.

He put on the ear muffs that looked like big drums and he sat on the floor farthest away from the sleeping car, closing his eyes and humming a nice tune to himself. _We’ll Fight For Uncle Sam._ That ditty was always a favorite.

Artemus was blissful for a moment, thinking about nice things like his favorite soliloquies, inventing new Aunt Maude anecdotes for his repertoire, contemplating some inventions, the permanent departure of the young lady that Jim was entertaining… He was sure he had waited out the storm long enough and ventured to pull at open of the drums on his ear.

The wall was thumping and she was screaming with both lungs now.

He let go of the drum and it smacked right back over his ear. 

Jim was a hedonist, there was no doubt about that. They had laughed together about it for years, and Artemus was glad to encourage and support Jim’s promiscuous lifestyle. It was always between consenting adults, there was no harm, really. But it would have been a lie to say that Artemus hadn’t wondered what it was like to be a one-night indulgence of Jim West.

What he didn’t like to think about was the inevitable dismissal that came after. The women had no qualms about using and leaving Jim West, either, it was a mutual agreement that worked out for everyone. But Artemus worked with the man, lived with the man. And he cared about him more than he was willing to put into any clear defining terms. Jim reciprocated the friendship, the sense of brotherhood. Artemus didn’t dare consider anything further than that. He would never say anything, he didn’t want Jim to look at him differently.

The only thing to do was to get himself to look at _Jim_ differently. He thought about Jim’s face and how dumb it was, how he hated his perfect hair and the perfect tan he always had, the gem-like quality of his eyes and the dimples when he actually smiled and wasn’t trying to look stoic. Jim was short and skinny and didn’t seem capable of wearing clothes that fit properly. Furthermore, his singing was too good, no character to it. And Artemus would know, he was a seasoned performer. Jim was just all around not very great.

Sleep was out of the question tonight. He needed a drink.

* * *

When Jim left the train through the parlor car to escort Miss Abigail Orson home in the morning, Artemus was snoring away sprawled on the couch. By the time Jim returned from handing Miss Orson over to her chaperone in town, Arte hadn’t budged, sleeping with his mouth wide open, one leg stretched out on the floor, a half empty bottle of whiskey on the floor next to him.

Jim stood over him for a moment, just looking, hands on his belt, head cocked. His parter looked like hell, his robe bunched up around his midriff and the black curls on his head in complete disarray. He enjoyed looking at him though, his friend was always a sight for sore eyes. He almost didn’t have the heart to wake him, but… well, he just couldn’t help himself.

Jim calmly took a quill from the desk, one that was there for decoration more than any practical purpose, and he carried it to his sleeping friend. He watched, deliberated, extended his arm to poke the very tip of that feather just under Arte’s nose, aiming for… what did Arte say it was called? That little dip above the upper lip? The philtrum?

Artemus sniffed and swatted a hand, Jim didn’t relent until Arte slapped himself in the face.

“Wuh—” He blinked awake and looked dazedly up at Jim. “Oh it’s you…”

“Good morning, Arte.”

“Good…?” Arte grumbled. “What’s good about it…?”

Jim was smiling a little, in his usual muted way. “Sun’s shining, weather’s beautiful. We’re about to shove off, if there isn’t anything left for us to do here in town.”

“You mean _anyone_ left to do?”

Jim chuckled low. “Wow, you are sour this morning…”

Arte sat up, rubbing at the back of his neck with a wince. No one ever slept on that couch and didn’t wake with a crick in their neck. He motioned with one hand for Arte to turn and Jim sat beside him on the couch. Arte begrudgingly faced his back to him, slouching a bit.

“The sooner we get back to Chicago the better…” Arte was scratching at his unkempt hair.

Jim’s hands were on the back of his neck, thumbs pressing into the muscle. It was hard as rock, so he worked out the tightness hard, slow. When Arte groaned he knew it was working.

“Something’s got you wound up, Artemus…” Jim murmured. “Has for months now.”

“Me?” Arte affected that light devil-may-care tone that was transparently his stage performance. “Well… maybe work’s got me stressed out. These past few assignments haven’t exactly been a trip to a Turkish bath. Oh…”

Jim’s hands were slowly kneading their way outward from his neck to his shoulders, massaging out the knots. “We’ve had one wild mission after another for years now. Never seemed to bother you before. Something is different, don’t think you can fool me.”

“Maybe I’m just getting too old for this sort of thing,” Arte threw up a hand, letting it slap onto his knee. “I’m not some spring chicken like you, ya know.”

Jim let go and leaned back. “Chicken? Arte… my feelings…”

Arte slowly turned, a brow quirked with deep doubt. “If name calling ever hurt you, Jim, you’d be dead by now.”

They laughed and Jim’s smile held to see that his friend was finally bobbing back up into his usual chipper self. Arte sighed, rubbing at the loosened muscles in his shoulders, shaking his head a little. 

“You always did have magic hands, Jim…”

“So I’ve been told. At least three times just last night.”

“Don’t—” Arte’s face darkened again, a wince ghosting his features. “I need coffee. The Irish variety, I think.”

“I could use some, black… I’ll get it.” He set a hand on Arte when the man moved to stand, gently urging him to stay where he was.

He went to the galley to brew it nice and hot, putting a good dose of whiskey into one cup before carrying them both back to the parlor car. The door was open, letting in the warm sunlight, and Arte was standing at the doorway, looking out at the stretch of railroad track, the yellow landscape of California, dotted with dry brush and a lot of rocks. Artemus had his robe tied a little more tightly against the desert morning chill. It was going to be sweltering in a few hours.

“Too bad I missed the sunrise… Thanks…” Arte said when Jim held the cup of joe to him. He took a sip and hummed, brows escalating and a low nod given.

“Irish enough for you?” Jim asked as he brought his own cup to his lips.

“I can practically taste the Blarney stone, Jimmy Boy…” Arte gave his best Irish brogue and winked as he took another hearty sip. “Chicago just doesn’t have the same hello or goodbye to the sun that the west does…” Artemus continued, looking wistfully at the blue cloudless sky. “Every dawn a serenade, every dusk a painting…”

“Not enough sky,” Jim agreed softly, following his gaze skyward.

“Too many people,” said Arte.

“You can’t live without people, Arte, we both know that.” He chuckled low, bending forward to lean one hand on the rail, one knee bent. “Why, what would you do without an audience?”

Arte was swallowing down mouthfuls of his coffee, ending in a gasp. “You’re right, James…” He smacked his lips and looked out at the desert. “Footlights, applause, wine, women, and music! That’s the stuff of life!”

His hand slapped hard onto Jim’s back and they both chuckled.

“Yeah, sure, Arte…” He looked at him over the shoulder of his blue corduroy jacket. “You’ve said all that before and I believed you then. I might be the only audience you can’t fool.”

“Why do you gotta keep poking at me, Jim, I’m fine…” Arte scoffed, pulling his hand away.

“You’re not.”

“I tell you, _I am_.”

“Mmm… Nope.”

“ _Mmm… Nope_.” Arte’s mimicry was perfect.

“Artemus, you can tell me now or I’m gonna spend the whole ride to Chicago getting it outta ya.”

“There is nothing to get out.”

Jim turned, his body easily bowed like a reed as he leaned one arm on the rail, one leg crossing over the other as he calmly sipped his coffee, staring hard at Arte. The man never could handle being stared at, and Jim had a way with making people break.

Arte swallowed hard.

Jim blinked once at him.

Arte shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Oh no… It’s not gonna work on me, Jim. There’s nothing to tell here, and you’ll get nothing out of me! I’m a little overworked. End of story. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get dressed.”

He nodded with finality and stormed away, leaving Jim alone at the rear of the train.

“Whatever you say, Artemus…” Jim smiled a little to himself and sipped his coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assignment puts them through some peril, but the scariest situation is when Jim finally confronts Arte on what hasn't been said. Spoiler: things go very, very well.

They never reached Chicago. Another assignment came in and the _Wanderer_ took a detour to Cedar Springs—the one in Wyoming, not to be confused with the Cedar Springs in California, Idaho, Utah, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico… and probably the other 30 or so states.

There were sightings in this Cedar Springs of a notorious criminal mastermind who had escaped prison, one Porteous DuBois, a cold blooded killer and deposed plantation baron from the Antebellum South who had it in his mind to claim most, if not all, of the Western Territory to restore the glory of the South, far and away from the barbaric Union.

Artemus Gordon and Jim West didn’t have to look very far to find him. The moment they rode into the small mining town, they were invited to a grand dinner with Mr. DuBois. He gladly told them his entire cunning plan to amass an army of other disgraced Southerners and overtake every town in the Midwest to the Pacific, gaining control of valuable resources and transportation by taking over the trains. The secret service men were then promptly drugged and kidnapped and thrown into the bottom of a well in the pouring rain, left to drown. The water was already up to their chests and rising every moment. Unfortunately for DuBois, he wasn’t familiar enough with the President’s agents to know to search their clothes.

With the individual components that were hidden in both of their clothes, Arte and Jim were already assembling a grappling hook.

“This would go much f-faster if I could feel my f-fingers…” Arte shivered, his black hair plastered to his head from the downpour of rain.

“Just don’t drop it,” Jim huffed, not a rattle out of him.

How Jim could always be so unaffected in the face of danger and discomfort, Arte had given up trying to understand. The man was impossible, and Arte was never more thankful for it than he was now. Jim was screwing the U-shaped hooks onto the rod that Arte had kept in his boot, his hands only shaking with the effort of twisting it as tightly as he could. His wet jacket clung so tightly to him, Arte could see the swell of his bicep from the effort.

Arte squinted and blinked up through the raindrops that hit his face. It was so dark here at night, they could barely see the opening of the well. And it was so far out of town, that their shouts hadn’t drawn anyone.

“Hold it tight while I get the rope on…” Jim grunted quietly, focused and intent, never stopping for a moment.

Arte held the iron hook, pressing his back against the cascading water on the stones of the well to give Jim enough room. The younger man had pulled off his jacket, where he worked at freeing a thin but highly durable cord from the lining of his jacket. Arte had stitched the cord into the jacket himself with threads that would hold it in place, but allow it to be easily slipped out when needed. Boy did they need it.

The cord itself was only strong enough to support the weight of one grown man, mainly Jim’s lean body. But Arte knew without a doubt that if Jim could get up out of this well, he would get Arte out too. He moved in close again to hold the hook while Jim tied the cord through the eye at one end of it, his hands working with magnificent dexterity to fasten the knot.

He took the hook and they both looked up into the falling rain.

“H-hope you’re aim is perfect, Jim…” Arte shivered. “You miss and that hook’s comin’ down on us like hell from on high.”

“It’s like playing horseshoes, right?”

Arte tried to laugh, even sardonically, but he was so cold and shaking so much that it came out as a rattling moan. “Have you ever even p-played?”

“Nope. Alright, Arte, I need you to move so my arm’s got room to swing…”

Arte pressed back against the stone, Jim shook his head. Arte sloshed in the water along the curved wall, looking at Jim with every step. Each step, Jim shook his head.

“Oh, I’m s-sorry… Excuse me while I step out for a moment…” Arte found his sarcasm. “You want me to dunk?” He pointed down.

Jim grabbed his collar and pulled him close, chests meeting hard and firm. Jim was surprisingly warm, even soaked through, his arm tight around Arte’s waist. All Arte could think about was how warm his partner was, he almost didn’t even notice the other man was swinging his free arm, launching the grappling hook skyward.

Arte pinched his eyes closed, his chin on Jim’s shoulder, as he anticipated the sharp metal coming back down on their heads, burrowing into a skull or shoulder. There was a sharp _CLINK_ , then nothing. He realized in the silence that followed that he still had his arms wrapped around Jim.

“Looks like it’ll stick,” Jim said calmly, his voice low at Arte’s ear.

“Stick? Oh. Right, looks like.”

Arte pulled away with a tremor and Jim’s head was tilted back as he looked up at the opening, his hair flat on his brow. Arte found himself wishing they had better light just so he could see Jim in the rain, but in his mind’s eye, he could just see how the water was dripping down along the curves of Jim’s finely carved cheeks and jaw, he had memorized it by now anyhow.

“I’ll climb up and get the rope and bucket for you,” Jim was already hooking the cord into the hook of his belt buckle, rigging up the pulley. With a powerful leap, he was scaling the slick walls, his boots slipping every step of the way, but his hands and arms gripping fast at the stones and the cord.

It was a wonder to watch the man work. Arte flattered himself with having a keen and agile mind, but Jim West had the keen and agile body. Jim reached the top, leaning out face first, his legs slipping out of view. In moments, his head popped over the side, as well as Arte could see it, and he was lowering down the bucket.

“Head’s up, Arte!” he called down, his voice echoing down. The bucket was by no means small, it could have easily fit a small child in it.

“Easy does it, Jim!”

He must have jinxed it, the bucket dropped suddenly. Arte stepped back just in time for it to hit the water with a great splash, the bucket missing him by a hair. He heard the distinct sound of a fist fight, there were splashes in the mud, the sound of fists hitting skin and body, grunts and growls of a scuffle.

“Jim!” Arte shouted, rather uselessly.

The water was still rising. It was going over his shoulders now. He couldn’t climb up on his own, if he tried he would only succeed in pulling down the rope that was supposed to free him. Finally, after a few grunts and groans, Jim leaned over the edge again, breathless.

“Arte! You alright?”

“Are you?”

“Never better… Grab on, I’ll pull you up!”

As soon as Jim helped to pull him over the top of the well and back on solid ground, Arte’s legs nearly gave out under him. Sheesh, that would have been a long drop! Jim held him upright until he was able to stand on his own. There were three men face down in the mud.

“I see your friends stopped by…” Arte gestured loosely at the goons.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting, they wanted to catch up…”

From there, they hightailed it to DuBois’ mansion and caught him in mid nightcap. Before he could call his grunts, Jim blew his brains into his port. DuBois’ men scattered for the hills, his supposed grand army reduced to nothing. With the help of the local Sheriff they managed to collect a few of the strays, but with a wire sent to Washington it was declared closed. Any follow up investigations were left to other secret service men.

—

The Mayor of Cedar Springs was so thankful, he offered them the nicest hotel room free of charge. The rain storm was still raging outside and it was at least a few hours’ ride back to their train. 

Both of their feet were dragging as they walked into the room, soaked to the bone, and just plain tired. Arte was already moving for the bed, and Jim grabbed the tails of his coat.

“Don’t even think about falling into bed… You’ll soak the sheets…”

“I’m so tired…” Arte whined.

“Get your clothes off…” Jim made it a command.

While Arte moaned to himself, Jim was already walking behind the dressing screen, peeling off all his drenched layers until he was naked. He ruffled his hair with a towel before patting dry the rest of his clammy skin and wrapped it loosely around his waist.

When he stepped out from behind the screen, Arte was wrapped completely in the blanket on the bed, only his face poking out, curled on his side. His own wet clothes in a pile on the floor.

“Jim, my boy…” he was frowning with his eyes closed. “One of these days, I’d like to come out of an assignment without feeling sick or cold or bruised or shot or worn out…”

“Ah, there’s no fun in that, Arte…”

Jim gathered up all the wet clothes and carried them in an armful to the door. Waiting outside was a hotel housekeeper, a pretty girl who blushed beautifully when she saw Jim wearing nothing but a towel. He thanked her kindly as she took their clothes in a basket, giggled, and practically ran away. He closed and locked the door. That was when he noticed the complimentary bourbon and cigars on the table by the door with a note of gratitude from the mayor himself. He poured two glasses of bourbon, put a cigar between his teeth, and went to the bed.

“This’ll help you warm up…” he held the glass out.

Arte peeked open one eye, a hand emerging from the blanket to grab it. Jim sat on the edge of the bed, stretching out with his head and shoulders against the headboard, legs out, ankles crossed. He didn’t let go of the whiskey glass as he struck a match with one hand, lighting his cigar, and sinking down into the mattress with a low groan.

He could feel the bruises from fighting all night, muscles sore from that climb out of the well, his skin feeling generally water logged. Arte was sitting up now, the blanket off his head, those black curls mussed and frizzing as they dried. He reached out, his glass towards Jim.

“To another successful mission…”

Jim nodded and smiled, clinking glasses before they both took a hearty sip. The liquid burned beautifully, blazing a trail down into his stomach. He sighed contentedly and puffed his cigar, his tongue playing with the tip of it.

He was a man of action, but there was nothing he liked more than these moments of quiet with the comforts of life and good company. All the moments of near death that they had encountered in the past few hours were virtually forgotten. Even though his body craved the relaxation, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. Just when his mind idly wandered towards that cute housekeeper, she was immediately forgotten when his friend broke the silence.

“Say, Jim…” Arte was staring down into his whiskey.

“Hm?”

Arte looked at him, mouth open to speak, and Jim was sure he saw the man’s eyes trail the distance from Jim’s feet to his face. Arte looked back at his whiskey and took another drink.

There was something Arte wasn’t saying for months, and Jim had been trying to hear it in his eyes and his body language. The messages Jim received translated into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to address. The signals were the same he often picked up from women who were attracted to him. He pretended Artemus didn’t look at him that way, even if he didn’t know why he was pretending.

Now he knew it was because they were friends, professional partners. To be anything more was… risky. For the first time, Jim let himself wonder and be curious. If they were virtual strangers, as Jim was with most ladies he dallied with from town to town… would he?

He had never put that much thought into it when it came to men. Now he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Throughout their years together, Arte put on a grand performance of pursuing women, often failing, and rarely succeeding. Arte never took the failure to heart, he usually seemed relieved.

Arte wasn’t bad looking, unless he wanted to be of course. But even when Arte was putting on his most gruesome face and dirtiest costume, he made Jim laugh so hard. On the other side of the coin, Arte could turn himself into something so suave and debonair it might have drawn Jim’s attention more than the ladies’.

Nothing had his attention more fixed than just Arte at this moment, though. No make up, no clothes, no pulled faces, or accents.

The silence between them was long. Jim swallowed down the rest of his drink and gently doused his cigar into the bottom of the empty glass, setting both onto the nightstand.

“Arte…” he said quietly. “I think I know what’s been bothering you…”

Arte’s eyes were large as he slowly looked to him. “You do…?”

“Mm hm…” Never mind almost drowning in a well or facing down three guns. Now his nerves were feeling a little frayed. “I wanna ask you something, but… I’d rather you just tell me when you’re good and ready. You know I’m a hypocrite about a lotta things, but I won’t play any kind of judge here…”

Arte swallowed and was shaking his head. “Let’s stop while we’re ahead, Jim…”

“It’s okay, Artemus…” Jim was sitting up now. “Your terms, not mine.”

“Sure feels like you’re setting the terms by starting this conversation…” Arte’s voice was grave.

“You started it by looking like a man ready to scream for months now.”

Maybe that was unfair, but Jim was plain fed up seeing his friend miserable. He wanted to make him happy again. He was scooting closer, unconcerned with the way it hitched up the towel over his thighs. Arte wasn’t moving away, and his eyes were wandering again over Jim’s bare chest and legs. His pupils were blown, and Jim suspected that wasn’t from the drink. So, he took the gamble he always took at high stakes.

He hooked one hand behind Arte’s neck and kissed him. Not too hard, not too deep, but firm and certain. He could feel Arte’s whole body seize up in the wrap of his blanket, the man stopped breathing altogether, but he didn’t push Jim off or pull away.

Jim broke the kiss, but he kept his hand on the crook of Arte’s neck. The other man was stunned, his lips seeming frozen in a half pucker as he stared at Jim like he was a mirage. Jim canted his head a little, waiting for the verdict.

“Holy Moses…” Arte gasped. With a groan of resignation, he let the blanket fall from his shoulders and he had Jim by biceps, kissing him again. It was fiercer this time, and Jim found he didn’t mind at all.

It wasn’t unlike kissing any woman, except that Arte’s lips were fuller, a little rougher around the edges from whiskers, and tasted so much… richer. Jim liked it, and he wasn’t shy. He deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue out and finding Arte’s mouth receptive to it. Oh, he liked it very much. He was feeling that familiar rush in his blood, the heat in his groin.

The way that Arte kissed him now was like a man in the desert, dying of thirst. While Jim was one who often indulged in kissing to his heart’s content, he wanted more of Artemus. He wanted to be closer to him, now that the barriers were going down, and his friend finally seemed to be letting go of the shackles that had been weighing him down. And whatever curiosity Jim had in exploring someone of his own sex was presented in the opportunity of someone he trusted with his life. He took the glass from Arte’s hand and set it on the nightstand.

His hand snaked its way into the blanket, wriggling through the folds until it found skin. Fingers trailed from Arte’s stomach, down until he found his manhood, and he felt a thrill in gripping it, stroking it slowly and feeling it harden in his hand. He had never touched a man like this before, but he knew the mechanics well enough.

Arte let out a comical sound, his often versatile voice striking a higher, nasally pitch, and he jolted a little with surprise but still didn’t resist. He kissed Jim harder, with more need, his hands finally finding their way to Jim’s shoulders, down over the hair on his chest, feeling, kneading, enjoying. Jim melted at the touch and purred low into the kiss, stroking the other man faster. Arte was panting now, and he broke the kiss.

“You sure… you sure about this..?” he whispered, foreheads pressed together.

“Oh I’m sure…” Jim said low. His hand slowed in its work though, a thought occurring to him. “Arte, you’ve been with a man before, right?”

“Uh huh…” Arte was kissing Jim’s throat, the sensation making the latter breathless. “Once or twice.. Ages ago…”

“Good… I thought so…” said Jim. “So you can, uh… show me how it works…”

That brought Arte to pause. He pulled back and looked quizzically at him. “You mean you never—”

Jim shook his head.

“Oh, well then… Let me reiterate… _Are you sure about this_?”

Jim was almost insulted that Arte would question his nerve or his resolve. Jim prided himself in his fearlessness. So he kissed him again, hard, a hand meanwhile whipping the towel off his waist so that he was nice and nude, his cock at full attention. When they broke again, Arte looked down and nodded.

“I’ll take that as a yes…” Arte’s hands were swimming along the muscle of Jim’s thighs, his eyes glued to his erection. “We got a few things to sort out before we go any further then…” He licked his lips. “If you’ll pardon my crass vernacular… Who fucks who?”

The possibility of either had Jim’s erection throbbing, or maybe it was just hearing that phrase out of Arte’s mouth. He gave Arte another good stroke and was pleased with the sound that rose from the back of his throat.

“Tell me what you want…” Jim said low, his tongue poking out to tickle behind the other man’s ear.

Arte shuddered and groaned again. “I… can’t even think…”

“What was on your mind all these months, Arte…?” Jim’s thumb stroked over the sensitive tip, squeezing gingerly down the shaft and up again.

“Oh my…” Arte gasped, wriggling a little in Jim’s grip. “You… God, I can’t stop thinking about you… I… _Oh_ …”

“Use your words, Artemus…” Jim lowered his voice into a rumble at the other man’s ear, working him slowly, Arte’s cock hard and hot in his hand. “How d’you want me?”

“I want… I want to fuck you, Jim…” Arte was gripping for dear life at Jim’s bicep. “Only if you want me to…”

Jim knew how men fucked, but he didn’t _know_. It was terrifying in an exciting way. “Then fuck me… I want you to have your way with me…”

“You’re a whore, Jim, you know that…?” Arte let out a breathy chuckle.

Jim was grinning now, and he let go, laying back against the head board again, one arm behind his head, the other palm out in a gesture of _Well? Come and get it._

Arte was still panting, flushed and pulling the blanket tightly around himself again.

“For God’s sakes, Arte, lose the blanket, will you?”

“You know, James… Not all of us look like we’ve been chiseled out of marble by Michaelangelo himself…”

“I’ve seen you naked, remember? You’re beautiful, Arte… And I know a thing or two about beauty.”

“Flatterer…” Artemus was blushing. “Aren’t I a little _older_ than your usual suspects?”

The conversation was cooling things down and he got the distinct feeling that Arte was stalling. Jim began to stroke himself now in plain sight for Arte. “If you don’t get that blanket off, I’ll go solo.”

Arte’s eyes fell to his moving hand and he licked his lips. He nodded rapidly. “Alright, alright… Ya sadist…”

It almost looked painful the way Arte threw off the blanket from one shoulder then the other. Now Jim could see him, full body, the dark hair that shadowed his thicker frame. He may not have been quite as lean and taut as Jim, but he was still fit, there was distinct muscular dimension to his arms, strength in his artful hands. Arte was still fully erect and he moved onto his hands and knees. Jim thought he was coming in for another kiss, but he put a hand on each side of Jim’s hips. He gently pulled Jim’s hand away from where he was stroking himself.

“If you don’t mind…” There was that cool genteel confidence he knew Arte had.

Jim’s cock jumped with anticipation, and he bit his lip when Arte’s breath was hot against his weeping member. Arte kissed the tender tip, his tongue teasing it before his lips closed around and took him in slowly and completely. Jim let out a closed-mouth moan when he felt every inch of Arte’s mouth and the hot softness of the back of his throat. When he withdrew his mouth, his tongue dragged along the length, swallowing him down again. Jim writhed, he hadn’t expected it to feel so damn good. He hadn’t expected to every see or feel Arte like this. He kept one arm curled behind his head, the other hand clawing into the mess of dark curls on Arte’s head.

“God damn…” Jim grunted and moaned his approval, surprised at every turn that Arte was capable of such feats.

He resisted the urge to thrust into that mouth, from experience he knew better than to gag his generous partner. He tried not to let his eyes roll too far into his head because he wanted to watch, he liked looking down his own body and seeing Artemus there, consuming him. Arte’s head bobbed a little faster and Jim felt himself getting dizzy. The man had done this before, that much was sure, and Jim had no reason to complain. Everything was coiling tighter, fire was spreading through his body as the pressure rose in his lower back, his heels digging into the mattress.

“Arte…” he moaned.

His partner didn’t relent, he continued the rhythm until Jim was heaving for air, everything ignited. His body locked and he came with a low groan that rolled out into a purr, pulsing his load into Arte’s mouth, and feeling the constricting of the that mouth around him as every drop was swallowed. Arte had done this before and Jim was delirious.

As Arte withdrew his mouth, he sucked him clean and sat up on his hands and knees again, dragging the back of his hand over his wet chin. Jim looked down at the man, gasping for air and a little dazed.

“If I’m completely honest, I’ve thought about doing that more than once…” Artemus chuckled softly, smiling.

“You’ve thought about it more than once, or you’re thinking about doing it to me more than once…?” Jim whispered, the corner of his mouth almost tugging into a smile.

“The answer is yes,” Arte chuckled. “Now if you’d be so kind as to turn over onto your belly…”

“Huh?”

“Roll over, Jim…”

Somehow Jim’s brain couldn’t wrap around anything other than sitting here stewing in his euphoria, but he was curious, intrigued. With agility he didn’t know he still had, he turned over onto his stomach, his ass in full presentation for Artemus.

“Now I know you got buttocks of steel, but try not to crush my face, _comprende_?”

“Your face?”

Jim had eaten out many a lady using his lips and tongue and fingers to their full potential. It never quite occurred to him that anything similar could be done to a man. He was fascinated and looked over his shoulder.

“What’re you gonna do..?” he was painfully curious.

“Don’t worry your pretty head, Jim, my boy… You’ll see. Just trust me…”

Arte seemed to be more comfortable than he had been in months, his hands expertly kneading at the muscles of Jim’s ass and spreading the cheeks. Jim felt his tongue slip between, gliding upward along the crack and teasing the tight opening. The wet heat of his tongue prevented Jim from ever catching his breath. That tongue pressed, and pushed inside with surprising strength, and the sensation surprised Jim, provoking a sharp breath. The man was relentless, he licked, prodded, and kissed in such a way that Jim did not expect could feel so wonderful. That wasn’t a part of his body he had ever thought to getting attention, and he buried his face into the crook of his arm, groaning low and pushing his knees into the bed, spreading his legs without any thought.

When Arte’s tongue reached deep enough, hitting a sensitive spot, Jim’s body jolted at the touch. He was hard again, even if he wasn’t yet ready to come again. Over and over Arte’s mouth worked him, and Jim growled with disappointment when it suddenly stopped.

“Normally I’d want to use some slippery stuff from here on…” Artemus said hoarsely. “But we don’t have any other options… If I take you, Jim, it’s gotta be with spit, and that’s a little rough…”

“What’s the matter, you got cotton mouth…?”

“I just had a two course meal, I’m positively salivating for the third course… You ready?”

Jim raised himself onto his hands and knees, pushing back so that his ass rubbed against the other’s throbbing erection. Arte hissed in response, his hands falling to Jim’s hips. This was new to Jim, he was usually the one behind, and his heart was hammering louder than a printing press in his ears. The mattress shifted as Artemus moved behind him, their thighs meeting, and hands gently on Jim’s hips. He looked over his shoulder, watching hungrily as Arte spit into his own palm and proceeded to stroke himself. The sheer obscenity of it made Jim desperate.

Arte took himself in hand, slicking up his heavy erection with a soft grunt, and guiding himself to Jim’s ready entrance. He slowly pushed until the tip popped inside, the tightness pinching Jim a little. But he was insatiable and dauntless. He leaned back, forcing the other deep inside him. Arte choked out a moan of surprise, one of his hands slapping onto Jim’s lower back to steady himself.

He felt impossibly full, it was the strangest thing he had ever felt, and Jim West had experienced some strange things in his time. He breathed in and out deliberately, his cheeks puffing a little. Arte’s hips moved, pulling out a little, and slowly easing inside again, the fullness less shocking this time.

“You all right, Jim?” he whispered softly.

Jim reached up to grip at the head board, bracing and challenging. “Yeah, Arte…” he grunted. “God yes…”

Arte thrust in again, harder this time and with a high moan. Every time he pushed in and out, the discomfort and sting was replaced with increasing pleasure. Every time he buried inside, he hit something deep within Jim that sent bolts of lightning through him, thunder in his spine. Jim didn’t hold back the lewd moans. Arte was pumping fast and hard, the sound of flesh slapping joining the cacophony of sinful sounds. Jim purred, mewled, cursed, and grunted to let Arte know just how good it felt, to keep him going. It felt better than he could have imagined in his wildest dreams.

“God, Jim…” Arte choked out the words. “You’re perfect… you’re beautiful…”

“That’s it, Arte…” he whined, manic with the pounding. “That’s it… _Harder_ …”

“Jim!” He cried out his name. “Jim, I’m gonna—” he let out a strangled cry mid sentence, pushing deep and trembling violently.

Jim could feel the heat fill him as Arte throbbed inside of him, hands clawing at Jim’s hips and back as Arte moaned long and low, as if his very life was leaving him. They both gasped when Arte pulled out, and he dropped with a bounce onto the mattress on his back, out of breath and gleaming with sweat, flushed and tired in a way that made him glow. Jim eased onto his side, also winded, but far from exhausted just yet. He lay on his side, leaning on one hand as he looked at Artemus. Jim’s body was humming, and he was thrilling in the musky smell that now filled the room, the salty stickiness all over.  
  
He just couldn’t help staring at Artemus. The man was a wonderful sight, and Jim had never felt such a completeness in his heart than he did at that moment. He felt like he was looking at Arte for the first time, and yet it was like they’d been doing this their whole lives.

“I never thought…” Arte finally spoke, his voice a little slurred as if drunk, eyes closed. “I never dreamed…”

“Never thought and never dreamed what..?” Jim leaned over, kissing at Arte’s damp pectoral, swallowing the dirty taste of him. Sweat and rainwater.

“Mmm, that’s nice… I never thought I could have you this way… You were a forbidden fruit… my Ultima Thule…”

“Your what?” Jim laughed.

“Never mind…” Arte chuckled weakly. He finally opened his eyes, his head lulling to the side to meet Jim’s gaze. “You know what I hate about you?”

Jim smirked. “I’d love to hear it.”

“I bet you would…” Arte scoffed, rolling onto his side to face him. “I hate _this_ …” His hand waved over Jim’s athletic body. “Can you blame me for not saying anything?”

Jim glanced down at himself, then looked back to Arte. “You’re damn right I blame you… We coulda been doing this much, much sooner.”

Arte chuckled and buried his face in his hand. “Good Lord, Jim… You’re incorrigible.”

“Yup.” He leaned in, kissing Arte lazily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't surmised by now, this is just a series of scenes with no plot, because let's face it, we don't watch WWW for the plot. This is something I will probably just keep adding to as I work my way through all four seasons of the DVDs that I bought. (When is this show going to be on some streaming service? It needs more members in the fandom. Please leave a comment so I know you're out there and I'm not chucking this into the void.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arte and Jim have a nice morning-after together, but trouble's waiting for them at the train. Some fluff, some violence, some more fluff.

The next day, everything was muddy. Wagons were stuck, horses were getting even stucker, but Artemus Gordon and James West had to get back to their train. The direct path from town to the tracks was practically seven miles of swamp now, thanks to the rain, and they were forced to take a long, rockier path where their horses wouldn’t get sucked into the clay of the earth.

Aside from everything being so wet, the clouds were now few and far between and everything had a sort of crisp cleanliness about it that put Artemus in a chipper mood. Or maybe it was from the night he spent with Jim. They fell into a deep sleep together, exhausted from the previous day and the night that followed, tangled up in each other’s arms. Arte had a hard time keeping the smile off his face. He was even singing from time to time in their long ride, going from one jaunty tune to another, occasionally slipping into some of his favorite arias in his best baritone.

It was just getting past noon, a cloud passed over the sun, dipping the landscape into gray. They stopped at a creek that had overflowed a bit from the rains as the water ran down from the hills, resting their horses and watering them. Arte dismounted and stretched his legs with a groan that turned into more humming.

Jim had been rather quiet, he realized. The younger man stood upright in the stirrups and _very slowly_ swung his leg over to climb out of the saddle. Once both boots were on the ground, he took the reins and began to lead the black Arabian closer to the water. No, he wasn’t walking. He was hobbling.

Now Arte knew why he was so quiet. Once upon a time, in his wild youth, Arte had been the bottom to some enthusiastic fellow and felt the repercussions the next day. He sympathized, he really did, but he had to put a hand over his face to hide the shit-eating grin.

“Somethin’ the matter, Jim?” he said innocently.

“Just been in the saddle too long, that’s all…”

“Of course, of course…” Arte nodded solemnly.

Jim left his horse to drink to its heart’s content while he took to a lean on a nearby tree. He pulled his hat off, fingers pushing into his brown hair idly. That frown on his face had been there since they left Cedar Springs. If Arte didn’t know any better, it almost looked like Jim was insulted that his perfect body that was capable of taking on ten men and scaling walls could feel _sore_ after a night of love making. Artemus wandered nearer, plucking a leaf from the tree and casually tearing little pieces of it.

“You look like a man wearing boots that are three sizes too small…” he observed, managing to reduce his grin to a smirk.

“My feet are fine.”

“Oh, I’m sure your _feet_ are fine…” Jim looked so angry, that handsome face of his screwed into a grimace that was still somehow attractive. Arte’s amusement was doused a little. “Jim, I… I hope I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to… I asked if you were sure, I hope you were honest with me. I—”

“Shut up, Arte…” Jim sighed. Finally he managed a smile, that frown smoothing some. He reached out a hand, beckoning Artemus closer. “You were great. I wouldn’t take it back for the world.”

Artemus let out a breath and moved in close, pelvis to pelvis, hands on Jim’s tiny waist. “Good. Good… Neither would I.”

Jim set a hand on Arte’s hip, the other holding his hat at his side. He tilted his head, frowning again. “Though you mighta warned me what a pain in the ass you are.”

The sheer accusation accompanied by such a terrible pun had Artemus laugh out loud. “You know I’ve seen many a young lady walk bow-legged out of your quarters, James… There’s a common belief among the Hindus called _Karma_ , it means—”

“ _It means_ ,” Jim rose his voice just enough to talk over him, “if you keep talking, _you’ll_ be the one walking bow-legged tomorrow.”

The implication sent a wave of heat through Artemus. “If that’s supposed to scare me into shutting up, you figured wrong…”

Jim was smiling brightly now, and he leaned in slowly, kissing Arte without another word. The wide open wilderness around them, all the birds and the running water, disappeared into Jim’s lips. He was eternally shocked at their softness, and how they knew the perfect way to brush against Arte’s, to tease them apart so that his tongue could ease inside. Jim kissed him slow, his tongue delving, coiling with deliberation. For a moment, the universe slowed and quieted. The chaos of their lives vanished completely.

He simply could not get enough of the feel of Jim West’s body. He was made with the craftsmanship of a perfect gun, a well-bound book, or a masterfully forged sword. Like those things, sure Jim West was as nice to look at as he was pragmatic to have around, but one couldn’t possibly fully appreciate him without feeling the weight of him in their hands. Arte squeezed his fine waist, working his way down to his hips and his ass that was shamelessly on display in his impossibly tight pants. When Arte squeezed, Jim hummed into the kiss.

* * *

They had spent a couple of hours letting the morning pass lazily by, high noon coming and going, kissing and holding each other, Jim giving an occasional generous squeeze of Arte’s crotch to get him adorably flustered before they finally got back in their saddles and made the last of the muddy journey back to the train.

Artemus went on ahead through the back of the train to send a telegram to Washington while Jim led both horses back to the stable car. He unlocked the ramp and clicked his tongue to lead them up and inside where some fresh hay and water waited for them. He removed the saddles and harnesses, giving each beast a generous brush down to make sure they were nice and cozy after such a long day. He had a sneaking suspicion they didn’t get the right amount of tender loving care at the town stables that held them.

Slinging his saddle bags over one shoulder, he stepped out of the stable car and bolted it shut again. From there he walked along to the engine to let the engineers know they were back and ready to be on the move again. When he called out, no one answered. That was definitely odd, the men were always there and ready to shove off at a moment’s notice. Climbing up into the cab he leaned inside. The engineers were tied up and gagged back to back, fresh blood trickled on one man’s forehead.

They were alive, but unconscious. As soon as that was established, his first thought was Arte. He dropped his saddle bags and leapt back down from the cab, bolting towards the back of the train, grabbing the rail and swinging with flying speed up onto the car. The door was ajar and he kicked it open with a bang, gun drawn—and looking down the barrels of three more. 

He recognized the mud-caked men immediately. It was the same three amigos he had scraped with outside of the well last night and they looked damn livid.

“Where’s Artemus Gordon?” He asked with lethal calm.

The largest of the goons grinned with yellow teeth. “Show ‘im, boys…”

The other two men leaned down behind the billiard table and hoisted Artemus off the floor, dropping him hard onto the green table, right on top of the balls. Jim winced, expecting one of them to explode from the impact. Arte was out cold, his lip cut, his eye black. They must have knocked him out and continued to hit him, otherwise Jim would have heard something. Arte was in trouble, they were hurting him, and Jim had no idea. The guilt and rage turned his vision red with clarity. He wasn’t even entirely certain Arte was alive.

“Porteous DuBois is dead, if you haven’t heard…” Jim said. “You fellas are out of a job.”

“That’s exactly why we’re here,” growled the largest man. “We had good things comin’ for us, an’ you no account agents came and took it all away! You Yankees think you own everything! Mr. DuBois had a righteous cause!”

“ _Had_ bein’ the operative word…” Jim said with a friendly tone.

“Don’t get smart, pretty boy. Not when I got your dear friend within sight of my six-shooter…” he aimed at Arte’s head. “Might as well drop the gun, Mr. West. We got you outnumbered.”

“That didn’t help you last time.”

“We didn’t have our guns last time. I said drop it!” He clicked back the hammer, still aiming at Arte’s head.

Oh, he’d drop it all right. He uncocked the pistol and let the weapon hang from the trigger guard by his index, both hands up in surrender as he slowly knelt down to set it on the floor, never taking his eyes off the thugs. His peripheral, of course, was fixing on the lever under the small table beside the door. He moved too fast for them to react. He threw the level, springs released behind the walls of the car, and smoke burst into the room, immediately clouding it.

They couldn’t see him, but he could hear them coughing and hacking up their lungs. One by one, he let them have it. Punching so hard he felt things crack under his fists, landing each blow to stun and neutralize before moving onto the next one. He wasn’t going to shoot them, he didn’t want to stain the carpet or the furniture again. For the second time in less than 24 hours he had them knocked out and bleeding. Now he let himself cough as he hurriedly threw open all the windows and lifted Arte’s limp body off the billiard table.

Over one shoulder he carried him out the door and set him out in the fresh air. Jim made sure the man was lying comfortably and returned for the other three men. One at a time, they were dropped off the car into the unforgiving mud. Just as he turned back to check on Artemus, he heard groaning and squelching in the mud. One of the men was coming to and reaching for another gun.

Jim fired a round into each man. It was the least he could do for what they did to Arte.

Holstering his pistol, he dropped to a knee beside his friend, gently taking his face and checking the bruises. “Arte…” he said softly. He wasn’t going to slap him awake this time, not with the beating he’d already gotten. “Hey buddy, come on…”

Arte still wasn’t responding, so Jim had to make damn sure. He held a finger under his nose to feel for air. He couldn’t tell. So he pressed his ear to his chest. There. Strong and sure, a heartbeat was in there. He let out a shaky exhale, planted a kiss on Arte’s bruised eye and reluctantly left him there. The thugs were dead, they weren’t about to bother anyone. But the engineers needed a hand. He untied them and helped them to their feet, asking them what happened. It was as he thought, DuBois’s men beat them to the train and tied up the engineers to prepare their ambush. Welp, those goons would’ve been better off letting bygones be bygones.

The engineers immediately went to work inspecting every inch of the train, to make certain nothing was sabotaged and set to explode. Jim did the same in the other cars, meanwhile fanning the gas out the windows. When the air seemed clear enough, he finally brought Arte back inside, laying him across the yellow couch and removing his neck tie to get him comfortable.

Before dusk, they were on their way to Chicago, the train moving smoothly on the tracks. Jim took a minute to send the report to Washington, getting it out of the way so that he could devote the rest of his time and effort to Arte. He dressed down to his shirt sleeves, vest unbuttoned, neck tie off, and the first few buttons undone. Using a handkerchief, he doused it in water and dabbed lightly at Arte’s face, getting the blood off his mouth and getting something cool on the swelling around his eye. Arte groaned quietly, but didn’t open his eyes.

“Wish you’d wake up, Arte…” Jim said under his breath, anxiety beginning to bite at him. “I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew you weren’t brain dead or somethin’…”

He unbuttoned Arte’s layers, his waistcoat and shirt, to get to the bare torso beneath. He rolled Artemus as much as he dared, checking for injuries. His entire upper body was black and blue, the sight of it making Jim wish he hadn’t just shot those bastards once.

“Hey… You could by me dinner first…” Arte slurred a little, his hand setting on Jim’s where it touched his ribs.

Hearing his voice brought a smile to blossom on Jim’s face. “I’ll buy you whatever you want. Damn you, Arte, you had me worried. You’ll be glad to know nothing seems broken…”

Artemus tried to move and immediately froze with great pain. “What the devil happened…? I finally accidentally set off one of the explosives in here, didn’t I? Was it the Persian vase?”

“No…”

“The copy of Don Quixote?”

“No...”

“I know. It was the cigar box.”

Jim chuckled and squeezed his hand. “No, Arte. You got the tar beat outta ya.”

“Oh… right…” Arte finally opened his eyes and glowered at the ceiling. “I thought I dreamt seeing those three _gentlemen_ again. Hope they didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“In any case, they won’t be troublin’ us again. I’d have killed them twice for what they did to you, Arte… I haven’t been that angry since… Well, I don’t know.”

Arte was looking at him now, and his eyes were so soft, Jim thought he’d get carried away in them. One eye was swollen into a good squint, though. Jim leaned in, kissing him very carefully on the lips, conscious of the cut there. He was glad to see the smile that it brought.

“How ‘bout a drink to numb the pain?” Jim said, getting to his feet.

“Just one?” Arte was still smiling, a little silly. Ever so slowly, he was sitting up, wincing with every minute movement, and Jim tucked another pillow under his shoulders to get him a little more upright.

“We’ll start with one,” Jim was already on his way to pour a couple of snifters of brandy.

“When you said I’d be walking bow-legged… this isn’t what I had in mind…” Artemus was grumbling.

“Believe me, pal, me neither…” Jim sighed and handed him one snifter.

He pulled the matching cushioned chair a little closer and sank into it, finally feeling that soreness in his ass again. With the distraction of that ambush and the subsequent adrenaline rush, he’d almost forgotten all about it. He writhed a little in his seat, taking a sip of his drink.

“Looks like you’re on mandatory bed rest. I told ‘em you needed time to recover, so here’s hoping they won’t be sending us another assignment too soon.”

“If this is what it takes to get a vacation, I’ll take it…” Arte mumbled into his glass as he took a hearty sip. He swallowed hard with a hum, then went to poking at his tender ribs and wincing. “How is it you get pummeled every day and come out all glistening with sweat without a scratch and I always bruise like an peach…?”

“Mm… I do love a nice juicy peach…” Jim leveled his eyes on Arte over the edge of his glass as he took another sip, licking the drops off his lips when he lowered it again.

“Oh Lordy…” Artemus’s breath gusted out of him.

“You okay?”

“No, James, I’m not… Not with you looking at me that way… Can’t you ever, I dunno… turn it off?”

Jim’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Arte…”

“Never mind…” Arte chuckled weakly, laughter clearly agitating the bruises. “How are you feeling? You seem to be sitting just fine.”

“Good as new,” he lied. He had every intention of sleeping on his stomach tonight.

They were quiet for a moment, enjoying the peace and their drinks, and that familiar rhythm of the trains wheels clicking on the track. Arte had closed his eyes, seeming to doze for a moment with his snifter balanced in the middle of his chest. He snored a little and Jim took that as a cue to get the glass out of his grip before he dropped it. He leaned forward, keeping his ass in the chair, to carefully take the snifter from Arte’s hand. Both of them were set on the carpet next to his chair and Jim slouched down, letting his legs stretch out in front of him, ankles crossed, fingers linked over his chest. His own sleepiness was shutting his eyes.

“Hey, Jim…”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Hm?”

“I could really use something to get my mind off all these aches and pains…”

“Arte, you’re in no condition to be getting overly excited…”

“Is intercourse all you think about?”

“Is there any better distraction than that?” Jim finally peeked open an eye.

Artemus was looking at him, shaking his head a little. “I was about to ask if you could read to me… I’d read for myself to pass the time, but I can’t see properly outta one eye.”

Jim couldn’t help smiling, feeling a surprising eagerness. “Yeah, sure, Arte. What d’ya wanna hear?”

“Well…” Arte hunkered down into the couch, thoroughly enjoying being catered to. “Of late I have been enjoying my second reading of _Walden_ …”

Jim resisted wrinkling his nose. At least he thought he did because Arte could read his face as if it was a book itself. The man affected a melancholy sigh, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

“It’s alright, Jim, I would hate to be a burden on you… I’m sure you got better things to do than look after me… I’ll be fine…”

He was laying it on thick and Jim couldn’t say no. With a sigh, he reluctantly pushed himself up out of his chair and limped to the stack of books on the desk. He found _Walden_ , an leatherbound copy that was well bent on the spine. He held it up for Arte to see, a sickly sweet smile flashed as he approached the couch. He lifted Arte’s legs and slid under them, letting them rest across his lap. Arte’s shins would work to hold the book. He found the marker that Arte had put in there in place of any ribbon, an old stub from one of the operas they had attended with two young ladies, whose names escaped Jim at the moment, and which Jim remembered having slept through. He gave it a curious glance, and brushed his fingers demonstrably across the printed pages, clearing his throat.

“’Bread I at first made of pure Indian meal and salt, genuine hoe-cakes, which I baked before my fire out of doors on a shingle or the end of a stick’…” Jim read for about ten minutes about baking, stopping for an extra long breath here and there before continuing.. “…’When you have kneaded it well, mold it, and bake it under—’ Say, how long’s he gonna go on about bread? You said you were enjoying this stuff?”

Arte was staring at him, expressionless. “Henry David Thoreau happens to be one of the greatest thinkers of our century.”

“I don’t doubt it…” Jim cocked his head at the book. “But I’ve met many a great thinker, and they usually do more interesting things than talk about bread.”

“Listen here,” Arte said sternly. “For all the mass murder plots I’ve been involved in thwarting, ingenious torture devices I’ve been the involuntary test subject for, daily explosions that leave a permanent ring in my head, and general violence that we give or receive, I quite enjoy reading about bread baking and house building by a calm little pond full of little ducks and little fish. Thank you very much.”

“Sure explains why you fall asleep so quickly whenever you decide to read,” Jim was flipping through the pages now.

“It’s soothing,” Arte was smiling now. “Besides, I don’t care what the book says… I like listening to you read it…”

That changed everything. Jim went back to the bread chapter and picked up where he left off, reading at a low, even voice, his hand on Arte’s knee, Arte’s hand on his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this was inspired by "The Night of the Surreal McCoy" because I might be obsessed with the way Artemus looked as "Lightning McCoy."

The streets of Pottsville were cleared, save for the two wayward tumbleweeds that rolled slowly by in a gust of dusty wind. Jim West stood stock still, feet far apart, the sun directly overhead.

There was a reason gunfights were always at noon when the sun was at its peak. It wouldn’t be in anyone’s eyes, it made it a fair fight. Jim’s black hat shaded his eyes, but his opponent had a much wider brim to his hat, which shadowed all but his mouth and chin.

He didn’t need to see Trigger Trayton’s face. He read everything he needed to know in the infamous gunfighter’s movements. It was almost like looking in a mirror, Trayton was clad in a tight outfit, a black bolero jacket with impressive silver buttons the size of silver dollars, a black mustache that seemed to drip down the edges of his mouth, and sideburns framing his face. He was impressive, and he famous for being the fastest draw in five territories.

Of course, Jim West was fast, too.

It happened in a flash and two bangs. Any of the spectators in the windows who happened to blink at that moment would suddenly see the two gunmen were with their pistols aimed and the smoke puffing from the barrels. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see if any bullet struck.

It was Jim West who hit the ground.

* * *

There was silence in the town when Jim West fell dead onto the street. Sheriff Mayhew crossed himself, but did nothing. Trigger Trayton twirled his gun and holstered it, then he marched with ringing spurs back into the saloon to finish the drink that was interrupted by West. He hardly spared a glance for the men who dragged the body, limp as a wet rope, out of the road and into the mortuary.

As Trigger Trayton leaned on the counter, the bartender did not wait to be told—he refilled the man’s shot glass with his finest whiskey, the glass rattling in his trembling hands. The deathly silence permeated into the saloon and Trigger finally turned, casting a cold glance around at the townspeople who looked like scared rabbits.

“If we don’t get music pronto, I’m ‘bout to make some noise of my own…” he slowly slid his hand over the ivory handle of his pistol.

The piano started up cheerfully and people forced themselves into making merry. Somewhere he heard a murmur about the poor handsome young man who was just killed in cold blood.

“That bushwacker had it coming!” A gruff voice replied from the swinging doors.

A handful of rough looking individuals came ambling in and right for Trigger. He kept his hand on his gun. The leader of the pack was a middle-aged fellow with a poorly trimmed beard a gold tooth flashing when he spoke.

“You’re Trigger Trayton, ain’t ya?”

Trigger looked him up and down. “I’m havin’ a drink.” He turned his back to them again. He could see in the mirror behind the bar that one of the men started forward with insult, but the leader laughed it off and sidled up beside him.

“S’alright, I know you are… You know that dandy you just killed?”

“Alls I know is he spilled my drink by runnin’ into me. I don’t like bein’ touched.”

“Sure…” the man laughed, pushing his hat back with his thumb. “I heard ‘bout you an’ how easy to offend you are.”

“I’m getting mighty offended havin’ you buzz at my ear, mister…”

“Easy, easy… I just wanted to sing your praises, friend! You just killed James West!”

“That name don’t mean anything to me.”

“You really do keep to yourself… James West is a government agent. Slick as they come and fast on the draw…” He burst out laughing. “Listen to me talkin’ ‘bout him in the present tense! He _was_!”

The man and his cronies laughed together. Trigger finally turned to look at them again, pausing a moment to spit at the spittoon and missing entirely without care.

“My name’s Jethro Hanson.” He paused, to let the notoriety of his name catch up. “This here’s Frank Ferrante… Tim Vernon… Tiburcio Juarez… Will Digby… Just to name a few.”

Wanted men, all of them. Trigger looked at each man in turn but didn’t even deign to nod.

“We own this here town,” Jethro Hanson went on. “And then some. We’d like to recruit you.”

“I don’t work for no one…” Trigger tapped his shot glass and it was promptly refilled. He threw back his head to swallow it in one go.

“You might consider it if you knew what was in it for you…”

“I ain’t interested in money. I don’t need it.”

Jethro was smiling, his gold tooth gleaming from his spit more than shine. “I know you don’t want money… but we can promise you all the killing to your black heart’s content and no chance of the law ever getting to ya.”

Trigger finally raised his chin with interest. “I’m all ears…”

“Come to the Crow’s Wing Ranch just outside of town, eight o’clock tonight. We’ll talk there, friend…”

Jethro Hanson and his gang bid a curt farewell and swaggered back out of the saloon.

That was as easy as he expected. Artemus just hoped that Jim’s bullet-proof vest held up to the bullet that hit him.

* * *

That night, Trigger Trayton—really Artemus Gordon—made his way to the Crow’s Wing Ranch and was invited into an Outlaw Cabal, led by Jethro Hanson. They were taking over towns and trying to gain control of territories one at a time. It had been months of investigating to find out that the rise in crime was coordinated and it finally led the agents here, to the hive.

At 7:45, Trigger Trayton arrived for the meeting.

At 8:04 the ranch house exploded into a ball of fire, thanks to a poorly guarded cellar of dynamite and Jim West’s deliberate carelessness with a match.

While Arte was at the meeting, Jim had collected all the information he needed and the Outlaw’s headquarters were successfully destroyed. When they returned to their train, they were tired but satisfied with their success.

Jim looked a little worse for wear, his hair disheveled, a spot of fake blood on his teal brocade waistcoat, and his knuckles bruised from the skirmish he fought through the ranch house with every group of outlaws that jumped out at him.

Arte, meanwhile, was peeling off his fake mustache with great relief, picking off the fake scar on his cheek.

“There’s no doubt about it,” said Arte as he pulled off his gun belt. “Without Jethro Hanson calling the shots, it’ll just be a matter of time before all those organized bandits scatter and turn on each other. Honestly, as ornery as those gentlemen were, I bet if we just gave it a little time, they would have fallen apart without our help…”

“Possibly…” Jim’s voice was low and right at Arte’s ear.

Artemus turned to find Jim inches away. “Are you seriously getting amorous already? We haven’t even sat down.”

Jim’s hands were closing around the lapels of Arte’s black bolero, his blue eyes glimmering with a shade of green as he looked him over.

“I must say, Arte… Of all your disguises, this one… This one just does something for me…”

Arte let out a breathy chuckle, blushing a little. “You mean this tight little number? I’ll admit the tailoring is rather flattering, I get why you like your jackets made this way…”

“Or maybe it was just the way you stared me down before you shot me… Honestly sent a shiver down my spine.”

“That, my dear boy, is called acting. Which I’ve tried to teach you— _mmph_ —”

Jim was kissing him and shamelessly groping the front of his pants. The man was insatiable, Artemus wasn’t always sure he could keep up with his vigor, but lordy was he going to try. Artemus returned the kiss with zeal, but he had to pull away to spit out some residual fake mustache hair.

Jim laughed and used the opportunity to pull off his own gun belt, tossing it onto the back of a chair. Arte began to pull off his bolero jacket, but Jim’s hands closed over his.

“Wait a second, Artemus… Keep it on…”

“Pardon?”

“The outfit. I told you I liked the way you look in it…” his hands were swimming over the layers of fabric, squeezing a little at Arte’s waist. “If you’ll let me… I want to be the one to take you this time…”

Artemus swallowed dryly. Thus far, Jim had taken it upon himself to be the rather enthusiastic bottom. The reversed roles generated a flop sweat in in Artemus.

“And uh… you uh… want me to keep the outfit on…?”

“Uh huh…” Jim was smiling, his tongue touching at his bottom lip as he looked Arte over.

With Jim looking at him that way, he couldn’t possibly refuse. And in that moment, his mind flashed with every possible athletic capability that Jim had, and that no matter what the situation was, he knew how to handle his own body. To let Jim lead this time, to take Jim in, had him short of breath and hard.

“Will you let me, Arte…?” Jim spoke just above a whisper, somehow so kind and generous in the request.

Artemus let out a low sigh, his eyes fastened to Jim’s mouth. “James, I’m ready to beg…” He tried to sound facetious, but his desperation betrayed him by rattling his usually well-trained voice.

Jim held him firmly at the waist and began to herd him towards the yellow plush couch. He turned him around and gently bent him forward.

Arte quickly got the idea. He undid his own pants—which were horrendously tight, he didn’t know how Jim lived this way—and he shimmied a little to get them down. His manhood sprang free, his ass fully accessible.

Jim sucked on his fingers and pushed them inside and Arte gasped at the sensation. It had been so long since he had taken anyone in, and to finally know what Jim’s frighteningly strong fingers felt like only made him ache for the rest. Jim was good with his hands—big surprise, he used them quite often with the ladies—and Arte white-knuckled the couch as he leaned on it. These hands pleasured, tinkered, and killed. They were masterpieces and Artemus was feeling greedy for them.

“The second I saw you in this getup, Arte, I wanted you so badly…” His voice was low, husky, and he worked his hand faster in and out, his fingers curling and shocking as if they had lightning in their tips.

Artemus was breathing hard, smiling dazedly. “If I’d known what you liked, I’d have worn something like this sooner…”

Jim’s other hand was reaching around now, stroking firmly and provoking a sharp cry from Arte. As heated as Jim was he expected him to take him right away. But the younger man was taking his time, and Arte was huffing and wriggling in his capable grip.

“Jim… Oh… That feels wonderful…”

“Does it…?” Jim whispered at his ear and Artemus could practically hear the devilish grin, the kind of grin that Jim wore when he was causing mayhem. “I thought Trigger hated being touched…?”

“Trigger…?” Oh. Right. The outfit. Jim wanted to role play, and Arte was never one to turn down a role. He smiled through his panting, frowning as he struggled to get into character, lowering his voice to that villainous register. “You keep layin’ your hands on me, amigo, and I’ll—” He couldn’t even finish his fake threat, Jim’s fingers had prodded an especially sensitive spot that made him jolt with a cry.

“I’m sorry were you saying something, Trigger?” Now Jim was just being mean.

“I was… saying…” he choked out, “if you keep layin’ your hands on me, you’d best be prepared to double down like a man… And give me everything you got…”

“Them’s fighting words, Trigger…” Jim purred so low it was almost a growl, his voice cool despite what his hands were doing.

“Oh yeah?” Arte was trying not to smile as he stayed in character, but he was on fire with need, Jim’s fingers like white hot metal inside him. “I think your yella…”

Jim’s hands withdrew completely. Arte watched him over his shoulder as he peeled off his blue jacket and waistcoat, the neckcloth tossed aside. He unbuttoned his shirt completely to let it hang loosely from his shoulders, the sculpted bronze of his torso contrasted against the perfect white of his shirt. He then looked Arte in the eye as he began to roll up his sleeves. There it was, that feral glimmer that he often had right before a fight. Gadzooks, to be on the receiving end made Arte melt like butter left out on a summer day.

A flick of his wrist and his pants were undone, his thumbs working under the tight waistband to roll it down his solid thighs. He was half hard at this point, and still burrowing his eyes into Arte’s. Jim spit into his hand and took hold of himself, squeezing and stroking the tip with his thumb, artfully working himself into a full erection.

He set his hands on Arte’s hips, spreading him gently and pressing that swollen tip to his tight entrance. Despite all the fighting words and the teasing, every touch from Jim was careful and sure, conscious to the last. In one slow push, the tip popped inside, easing deeper and deeper. Arte knew Jim wasn’t small, nor was he lewdly enormous, but he had never felt so full in his life. He breathed out with a low moan, relaxing himself, gripping tightly on the couch.

There was no sound from Jim beyond a soft exhale, his fingers dug just a little deeper when he pulled back and in again. Every push and pull had Arte’s lungs seize, but he was in agony and he felt like Jim was treating him like he was made of glass. Jim West had a brutality that Artemus was craving.

“You gonna keep tip toeing through the tulips, or are you gonna take me like a man…?” He growled in his best Trigger Trayton voice.

Jim let out a breathy chuckle. “I was just giving you a chance to surrender… as a gentleman…”

“I’m ready to go down fighting….” He was wound so tightly and so hard that he could scream.

So when Jim paused, half inside him, to prop one boot onto the couch Arte’s heart was hammering. The grip tightened on Arte’s hips and Jim’s powerful hips began to work at a new angle that hit Artemus like a cannon. Jim drove deep, hard, and fast and Arte nearly crumpled with the barrage of pleasure that fired through him.

Now Jim was grunting, softly at first, then, gradually rising into moans from the back of his throat. There was no way to keep play acting now, Artemus was a groaning, moaning mess as he held onto the couch for dear life, sweat gathering on his brow and curling his black hair. The pace that Jim had set was just enough to make him incoherent, to build the pressure in his spine so gradually that he was a kettle ready to boil over and scream.

“God, Arte…” he choked out, his thrusting more frantic.

“Don’t stop, Jim… Oh, don’t stop…” Artemus could hardly catch his breath. He was getting so close.

He couldn’t see Jim, he could only hear the slapping of flesh on flesh, the labored breathing, and increasing noises of pleasure that Jim emitted in hums, growls, grunts, and the occasional open mouthed moan. Arte didn’t need to look at him to know he was making that face, the one where his eyes crinkled, his brow furrowed, and his mouth in that alluring grimace.

It happened suddenly, the white heat shooting through Arte and locking him in his own body as it jolted of its own accord, his seed spilling and his moans fragmented as everything tightened and released. Jim never stopped, he continued to pound him, but only for a few moments more before he followed over the edge.

He folded over Artemus where he was bent over, his chest to Arte’s back as he buried himself deep, the bellow rising out of him slowly as he spilled inside, his breath hot on the back of Arte’s neck. As the tremors began to subside, Jim’s hands swam from their grip on Arte’s hips and his arms closed around him, his hands over Arte’s chest.

Though he was the one bent over, he found himself supporting all of Jim’s lean weight for a moment as they caught their breath and he never wanted to kiss him so bad, the exhaustion of the day and this crescendo leaving him thoroughly spent.

Jim hummed again, seeming to come to, and he withdrew with a grunt. Arte straightened himself up, languidly tucking himself back into the damnable tight gunfighter pants he had on. It was then that he noticed he’d jismed all over the plush couch. Damn it, that thing stained so easily!

He’d worry about cleaning it later. He had some chemicals in the lab that would do the trick…Turning to Jim, he saw the younger man was just buttoning his pants, his eye lids heavy with gratification. Arte’s body was absolutely abuzz from the ride, and sore in all the right ways, but more than anything his heart was full as he looked at his friend. Friend? Obviously they were more than that.

He pulled in close, his hands slipping under Jim’s loose shirt to feel the sweat soaked flesh of his taut torso, the muscles of his back. He leaned in for a kiss, and just as lips touched, there came a deafening knock at the door.

Arte nearly jumped out of his skin and Jim laughed, peeling away from him.

“I’ll see who it is…”

Artemus was frowning. “They can go away, this place isn’t fit for hosting any guests…” Not with those cum spots on the sofa.

He watched for a moment as Jim went for the back door of the parlor car, his legs a bit heavy in his swagger, letting his shirt float loosely around him. Arte stayed back at the couch as Jim opened the door.

“Sheriff Mayhew,” Jim said politely. “What can we do for you?”

The sheriff, a tall gangly man, edged forward with assumed admittance, but Jim didn’t move. “Well, Mr. West, it’s about that explosion at the Crow’s Wing Ranch… I think you government boys might have gone a trifle too far.”

“Now, Sheriff…” Artemus stepped forward now and realized his legs were feeling a little more like wet rags than limbs and he took to a heavy lean on the desk as he faced the door. “We would be more than happy to come and see you tomorrow morning after we’ve completed our report to Washington to hash out any troubles you may have with what happened…”

“Jethro Hanson’s gang was dissolved, Sheriff,” Jim said calmly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve had a long night and could really use the rest…” Even from here Arte could see that sweet smile on Jim’s face that was hard to argue with.

Sheriff Mayhew sputtered and tried to hold the door open, but Jim closed it and locked it. He faced Arte and they stared at each other as they listened to the mumbling on the other side of the door, and finally the sheriff’s defeated steps as he climbed back down off the car and onto his horse. It wasn’t until they heard the horse’s hooves fading off into the distance that they shared a mirrored sigh.

* * *

He wasn’t one to show it, but Jim felt the jolt to his heart beat to have that unexpected caller. Artemus seemed to have the same thought, judging by the paleness of his cheeks.

“You don’t suppose he heard anything, do you…? We weren’t exactly being quiet as dormice…”

Jim pursed his lips with thought, and shook his head. “I doubt it. And if he did, I’d be happy to explain it to him.”

Arte blinked. “With a well thought out _lie_ , I hope…”

Jim’s hands went out in a silent _Come on_. Of course Jim knew to be careful. This wasn’t just their careers on the line or their reputations, it could very well be their lives. The danger of their private life together was not a new threat. He knew Arte had a lifetime of these dark secrets to carry, and Jim may have been new to sleeping with another man, but he had his fair share of things in his past he preferred to keep quiet. There was a weight in the air between them. Jim decided it was exhaustion.

“Jim…” Arte said softly, taking off the tight black bolero jacket with some effort.

“Yeah, Arte?”

Jim was slipping out of his shirt and heading for the door towards the front of the train. He could practically hear his friend thinking, it was a sort of white noise that filled the air like steam, building in pressure until Artemus found a way to let it out.

Arte followed him, untucking his shirt now. The lamps were all lit for them and they made their way through the narrow hall past the lab car towards their private berths. 

“You know I… I’m very fond of you, don’t you?”

Fond. That word just didn’t seem quite adequate for what they had. It was an absurd understatement to the point of being a shared joke. But there was something in Arte’s voice that Jim recognized was far from joking. Those big expressive eyes of his were windows to his soul when he wasn’t trying to disguise them.

Jim walked into his own room, tossing his shirt onto the small bed, and he turned to where Arte leaned in the doorway.

“’Course, Arte…” he said with a small smile. “I’m fond of you, too.”

“And I know that…” said Arte, putting on a limp smile, his eyes dipping to the floor.

Jim was about to put on his robe, but he stopped before reaching it and faced his friend. “What’s the matter?”

“I…” He broke into a chuckle and shook his head, rubbing at his brow. “I think I’m just tired and over thinking… Never mind. Let’s get some sleep and tomorrow I’ll make omelettes with some andouille sausage, like we had back in New Orleans.” He was smiling brightly, but there was still that sadness—or was it fear?—behind those dark eyes.

“Arte…”

“I hope we still have that sausage in the galley…” he was turning from the door with a smile that just wasn’t convincing.

Jim moved forward and grabbed his wrist. He didn’t have to grip hard to get Artemus to stop. “Arte, what’s on your mind?”

Arte sighed and faced him again, the smile gone as quickly as it was put on. “I don’t know if it’s something we ought to talk about, Jim… I don’t want to change what we have.”

Jim would have laughed if Arte wasn’t so serious. “Change more than we already have with all the things we’ve done to each other?”

“We’ve had a lot of fun…” Arte said quietly.

“You bet,” he squeezed at Arte’s bicep beneath the cotton shirt.

“And I don’t want you to think I’d ever want to take any of it back.”

There was a ‘but’ hanging in the air. Obviously there was something Artemus didn’t want to say, something that mattered so much to him that it scared him to even think about. They had never hidden anything from each other. If ever there were two people completely transparent with one another, it was them. Long before they even slept together. Whatever fatigue Jim was feeling was chased away by the sharpness of his mind trying to thumb through what Arte wasn’t saying. The only thing that they did different tonight was that Jim topped him, and no one seemed to be complaining.

“Was it because I…?” He didn’t know how to ask. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do that again, I understand…”

Arte’s eyes widened and grabbed Jim’s wrist, finally facing him fully again. “Oh, no! No, no Jim…” He chuckled weakly. “What you did was the farthest thing from wrong, believe me! I don’t think I’ve ever… Well, it was marvelous, let’s put it that way… I guess I’m just wondering what it is we’ve been doing in a general sense…”

Now Jim was feeling something sink in his stomach. “You, uh… You want to quit?” He tried to hide his disappointment behind empathy.

“Not at all… Confound it, I’ll just come out and say it.”

“For Christ’s sake, I wish you would, Arte…” Jim gusted out, letting his frustration show as he stepped back, hands on his hips.

Arte was scratching at the back of his head, licking his lips as he seemed to search for words. “The trouble here is that… I’m having fun with all this, sure, but… I can’t help it. I-I love you, Jim. It’s taken me all these years to understand it, to identify how I felt about you as a professional partner, a friend, and now a… a lover… I’ve been paying attention to it as if this is some perverse scientific study, and I’m not proud of it, you understand! But I took notes in my mind about how you make me feel when you talk to me, when you’re not around, how we fit together so perfectly when you are here, how looking at you makes me feel all sorts of butterflies in my tummy!” He poked himself at his gut. “And I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not because I think you’re handsome! I know your face as well as my own by now and I promise it purely banal thing to me! It’s just… _you_ , James. Ever since I’ve started working with you and living with you, I don’t think I’ve ever been a better version of myself. I care about a lot of things in my life, you know how I get about food or theatre, but you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to jump into the line of fire for, not because it’s the _right_ thing to do, but because it’s _you_ … I thought about what I’d do if the sheriff knew, if he caught us, and I don’t care. I’d stay with you, even if we get chased out of Washington or sent to a noose. And I understand if you don’t want to have feelings mixed up in this, I know how you like to keep emotions out of sex, you’re very good at it. I wish I was, but I love you. I just do. And… and, well, there it is, I got my cards on the table, do with it as you please.”

Jim was staring, jaw slack. He somehow knew that was what Artemus wanted to say, but he was in no way prepared for what he heard.

“For God’s sake, say something, will you…” Arte’s voice was suddenly weak.

Jim sucked in a deep breath, his hands finally falling from his hips. “I’m not entirely sure what to say… Except… In all your scientific observation of me, you didn’t even notice that I love you, too?”

As he hoped, Arte blossomed with a smile. Jim moved nearer, taking the man’s wonderful face in both hands.

“I don’t have some speech prepared, but I think it’s enough to say… I love you, Arte. I have for a long time.”

“You’ve always been a man of few words…” Arte’s voice shook, and he still smiled. “Did you have to keep me hanging like that though?”

Jim was grinning at him now. “You might be tired of my face, but I’ll never get tired of yours. Especially with that look on it…”

“Oh, _ha ha_ …”

If Arte had any other complaints, they were silence by a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you know, I didn't go into this one with any plot in mind. Future WWW tales will probably just be stand-alones. This was as good a note as any to end this one though, I hope! I just love these two and when time and energy permits, I'd love to write more plot-based stories.


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